by Kelly Moran
He stilled. “Meaning what?”
“Meaning, we can’t unlock it from the inside.” She pointed to the box in his hand. “Ergo, why I had the door propped open.”
His dark brown eyes narrowed on the cardboard as if it were the box’s fault, then the door as if he could laser it open by sheer will. “I’ll text one of my brothers.” He unceremoniously dropped the box and pulled his phone from his pocket.
“Good luck with that. There’s no cell reception in here.”
Chest rising and falling in rapid succession, he paced the room, holding the phone near every nook and cranny trying to get a signal. She watched, shoulders deflated, mood in the crapper. Giving up, he pocketed the cell and glanced at the only window in the room. Twelve feet off the ground, it hugged the ceiling and was roughly the size of a shoebox. Not even she could climb out that narrow an opening.
“Hell.” He pinched the bridge of his nose.
“Exactly. That’s exactly where we are.”
Chapter 10
“You better hope I don’t have to pee later.”
Lacing his fingers, Drake stacked them on his head. “I said I was sorry.”
In the supply closet, Zoe sat propped against the door, him directly across from her on the far wall in what he considered a Mexican sit-off. Except there were no weapons and it wasn’t high noon. And it was getting very hot in here.
“I blame Avery for not telling you about the faulty lock in the first place.” She banged the back of her head lightly against the door. Again. “I have all night to think of ways to repay her. And by that, I mean evil, evil things.”
It wasn’t as if he was ecstatic to be locked in a small room with her either. Especially not while wearing his black surgical scrubs and smelling like dog fur. She wasn’t much better off in her yellow scrubs, still damp from shampooing her last client. Yeah, he’d wanted to have a good, long talk with her, but not while they were caged in with no escape for hours.
He stretched his legs out in front of him, the soles of his shoes brushing hers.
“I hope there’s not an emergency at Mama’s rehab.” She checked the phone in her lap as if she’d miraculously get a signal by staring at it.
His chest pinched. “They have others as an emergency contact if they can’t reach you, right?”
“Yep. You.” She frowned. “And your mom, plus Brent and Gabby just in case. Hopefully, everything’s okay.”
“I’m sure it will be.” Still, he felt like a jackass. “At least you didn’t have plans or anything.” Had he said jackass? He meant asshole.
“I had a threesome planned with me, Netflix, and my cat, but thanks for the reminder.”
This was what he got for trying to lighten the mood. She flustered the crap out of him on a good day. And this had not been a good day. Sixty percent of his clients had been non-emergencies. A plethora of females whose animals were “feeling off” or “acting unusual.” And he hadn’t found a damn thing wrong with one of them. He’d never gotten so many offers of dinner in all his life. He didn’t know how Cade had diverted when he’d been single.
Drake scrubbed his hands over his face. “I apologize for screwing up your date, in that case.”
She snorted. “Date.” The word dripped with disdain. “My last date was with Cade at your Aunt Marie’s re-election party, and it doesn’t count being a plus one as friends.”
What? “That was three years ago.”
She lifted her hand with wide eyes as if to say, no kidding.
He frowned. Zoe had always been the life of the party and had never lacked male company. He knew her mom’s care took up a chunk of her time, but had she seriously stopped all social activities? And if Cade had been her most recent date, when had she last had a real one?
“I used to think you and Cade would wind up together.”
Her you-done-gone-crazy look only irritated him more.
“You guys hung out a lot and shared similar interests. You were each other’s fall back crutch for events, too. It made sense to me.”
Her foot twitched. “I never slept with your brother. Either of them.”
He knew that, and the thought of her possibly being with Cade or Flynn caused his blood to boil. Which was stupid because both had found their soul mates, were happy. His fingers clenched while he fought to devise a change in topic. Errant thoughts landed him on what had happened at the front desk at closing time.
“I guess we should talk about the parade.”
Closing her eyes, she shook her head, looking so weary his throat ached. “I’ve got five dogs I’m walking who’ll wear my Doggie Style grooming logo on a banner. If Pine Crest lets me take Mama, I just need you to push her wheelchair and keep her calm. There. We talked about it.”
He hadn’t a clue what had gotten her hackles up again until he recalled how upset she’d been when his aunts and mother had been here. Hell, she’d all but been in tears and had stormed off. His gut twisted even as confusion over the incident shoved around in his skull. Zoe, at times, could go all over the emotional scale, but crying wasn’t like her.
“And look at that. We didn’t even need to do dinner to have the conversation.”
Glancing at her again, he took in her closed expression and became even more confused. Why would his family’s suggestion to discuss the parade over dinner put her walls up? “We could get together one night, anyway.” When Heather had been alive, they’d shared meals with Zoe at least once a week.
Dropping her chin, she sighed. “I hate it when I plan a conversation in my head and the other person doesn’t follow the script.”
Script? Hell, he didn’t even have a solitary page of the CliffsNotes. “Zoe—”
“Think about it, Drake. I know you’ve been out of the real world for a while, but even you must recognize why Cade named them The Battleaxes. They meddle, they sucker people into doing what they want, they bend townsfolk to their will, and they play Cupid.”
Wait. The parade, dinner…had all been a ruse to set him up with Zoe? His heart did some kind of stutter beat. Images of her reaction from earlier when they’d brought up the subject pushed to mind. She’d gotten defensive with the ladies—pissed off one second, wounded and hurt the next. Then her eyes had filled. She’d said something, too, and he tried to remember.
Hasn’t he been through enough? Haven’t I?
Oxygen seeped from his lungs. He rubbed his jaw, trying to process. Her expression hadn’t been so different from the one he’d caught on Avery’s wedding video. Had she been trying to protect him? From her?
“Better breathe, Drake. There’s not a defibrillator in here.”
He searched her hazel eyes and found no answers, other than, once again, he wanted her. He didn’t know what to be more upset about—the fact his family chose her and wanted them together or that Zoe was doing everything in her power to stop them from succeeding. He’d seen it on her face in the video. She felt something, too. Exactly what, he hadn’t a clue. And Christ, it needed to be discussed. But this entire scenario was akin to walking across hot coals shoeless.
He cleared his throat. “The idea of them trying to set us up disturbed you.”
She stared at him. Long. Hard. “Besides all the obvious reasons why it would be a horrendous idea, you and I would be a one-way ticket to frustration-town.”
If that wasn’t the worst non-answer he’d ever heard, he didn’t know what was. “And what do you plan to do about their attempts?”
She shrugged. “Ignore them. Hard as I can.”
Call him crazy, but he suspected that would work about as well as pretending there wasn’t something already flickering between them. He knew why he was having a bitch of a time with the shift, but he didn’t know her reasons. Wasn’t sure he wanted to because she was right. About all of it. Together, they were a bad idea.
And yet he wanted her. More and m
ore by the damn second.
She pulled out her ponytail and ran her fingers through the purple strands. A shade darker than lavender, like her scent. Loose waves fell to her shoulders. He was just starting to get used to the pink and she’d dyed it again. For too long, she’d been doing this—one outrageous color after another. The only reprieve had been Cade’s wedding when she’d returned it to her natural hue.
“Why do you color your hair?”
Avoiding his gaze, she ducked her head. “Why does it matter to you?”
Because she mattered to him, along with everything she did, said, or thought. He may not understand her actions, but he knew her. There was something behind this particular quirk and, for two years, he’d been wanting to ask.
Pulling his legs up, he rested his forearms on his knees. “Humor me.”
Rubbing her forehead, she looked away, her gaze indicating she was no longer in the room. At times, her appearance could be so expressive it hurt. Her pouty little mouth, her eyes too big for her face. He couldn’t read her now, and just as he thought she wouldn’t answer, her quiet voice drifted toward him.
“A couple years ago, I was in the kitchen making dinner. Mama was at the table, and when I set her plate down, she looked at me like she had no idea who I was. She’d had memory lapses before, frequent ones, but that was the first time she didn’t recognize…me.”
Her teeth sunk into lower lip, and he wanted—needed—to hold her. But her mannerisms and body language indicated that was the last thing she required right now. Seemed the only thing holding her together was sheer will and bravado. Hell if he’d crumble that for the sake of his own desires.
She let out a near silent breath, her gaze on his chest. “I realized she wasn’t the only one who didn’t recognize me. I hadn’t painted in too long, gone out with friends, or dated. All I ever did was go to work and come home to her. I’d given up my apartment, my identity, my life in order to take care of her. There was no choice. She’s my mom. I love her.”
As if it didn’t matter, she shrugged. “So I went to the drug store and bought blue dye. Seemed fitting at the time. I figured if Mama didn’t recognize me, no one should. And whenever I look in the mirror and don’t get surprised by my reflection, I know it’s time to change colors again.” If possible, her gaze grew even more distant. “I still can’t eat meatloaf without thinking about that night.”
Christ in Heaven.
In his own grief, he’d sometimes forgotten he wasn’t the only one who’d lost Heather. She and Zoe had been joined at the hip since they were two years old and playing in the sandbox. Zoe had been there when Heather had taken her last breaths, had been given the heart-wrenching job of reading her eulogy. Only a year had separated Heather’s cancer diagnosis from Catherine’s dementia. Zoe hadn’t just lost her best friend, was not only slowly losing her mother. She’d had any sense of individuality stripped, too.
Closing his eyes, he battled through the compressing sensation in his chest and the band blocking his airway. She’d taken care of everyone else, including him. But who’d taken care of her?
The sound of her clothes rustling as she shifted filled the quiet. “You know what they say. When a door closes, a window—” She surged to her feet. “Give me your cell phone.”
He was going to require a neck brace with all this whiplash. “Why?” He lumbered to a stand and dug in his pocket, passing her his cell.
Thumbs flittering, she opened a group chat with Cade and Flynn. “Okay, give me a boost.” She pointed to the window. “I can hold the cell outside and try to send a text.”
Clever. Wished she’d thought of it before she’d filleted his innards.
Squatting, he tapped his shoulders for her to climb on. Once she was situated, he held her calves to keep her steady and rose to full height. She was a petite thing, making the task not much of a challenge. He tilted his head, watching her progress. She unlatched the pane and tugged on the small frame. It slid forward to open a fraction.
Her small hands worked their way outside, her thumbs scrolling. “Got a signal. Only two bars, though.”
Two bars were enough. He waited, trying to keep still so she wouldn’t fall.
“Ha. Sent.” She brought her arms back inside, relocked the window, set his phone on a nearby shelf, and cupped his cheeks, thrusting his head back so he looked at her upside down. “Help is coming.”
Then she…kissed him. Inverted, like in Spiderman film fashion. A quick smack that she probably hadn’t intended to be sexual. But he had to plant his palm against the wall to stay upright, and she didn’t pull away afterward. She held his face in her hands, a wrinkle between her brows, lips parted as they all but shared air. Pink infused her cheeks and her eyes dilated while her gaze took a long perusal of him.
Every organ in his body shut down, all except his heart, which was jack-hammering to stroke capacity. Finally, she whispered his name, and he lost it.
Reaching back, he wrapped his arm around her waist, eased her down, and pinned her to his chest until her feet barely dangled off the ground and they were aligned. He held her jaw with his other hand, stroking the petal soft skin of her throat with his thumb. Her warm breath caressed his cheek, as uneven as his own.
Through heavy lids, she stared at him with those collapse-his-lungs hazel eyes. He didn’t know if it was a trick of the light or her aroused state, but her irises had more green flecks than brown or gray. Her lashes fluttered and her gaze dipped to his mouth.
Up until right now, he could’ve given any number of excuses for what he’d seen on the video or the expressions he’d infrequently caught when she’d thought he wasn’t looking. But no. There was no doubt. Not with her heart thumping against his chest and the pulse going hyperactive in her neck. Certainly not with that oh-no/hell-yes combo she had going in her eyes.
Okay. Moment of truth. Kiss her and blow sanity out of the water, or set her back on her feet and…blow sanity out of the water.
Resting his forehead against hers, he brushed their noses, and whispered a plea. “Zoe, honey.” He swore he could feel every red blood cell swimming through his veins. He’d asked her once before, and he’d only do it one more time. “I’m not alone in this, am I?”
Her fingers clutched the back of his shirt. Eyes wide, she offered a barely perceptible shake of her head.
“You’d be in feral cat mode, shredding me with your claws if you didn’t want this, too, right?”
Trembling, she nodded.
Option one for the win. He closed the meager distance, kissing the corner of her mouth. It wasn’t as if he’d forgotten how, but it had been such a damn long time since he’d done this that he needed slow or he’d implode. Even then, he’d spent ten years with the same woman.
But having Zoe against him wasn’t familiar and it certainly wasn’t benign. Working his way across her mouth, he increased the pressure by a margin and kissed the other corner. Her lips parted with a gasp and her lids fell closed. He let his own lids drift shut and kissed her lower lip, then the upper, earning a needy whimper from her.
Breaths soughing, fire licking his skin, he tilted his head and went deeper. An open-mouth assault without tongue, but with twice the heat of anything he could recall. She moved against him, matching his ministrations with tender care of her own as if she knew how hard he was struggling not to plunder.
With a quiet moan, she eased away a fraction. “Drake.” Her voice was a needy whisper, but he had no idea if she was asking for more or demanding something else.
His muscles shook with restraint, so he carefully set her back on her feet. “I can’t seem to catch my breath.” Hell if he cared either.
Her laugh skated across his neck. “I—”
Footsteps sounded outside the door. A click of a key in the lock followed.
Suddenly, he didn’t want to be rescued. However, his brothers didn’t need to ca
tch him and Zoe making out like teenagers in a closet. Hands on her shoulders, he stepped away and grabbed his phone off the shelf.
She erected more distance as if ashamed of what they’d done. Eyes wild, she crossed her arms and stared at the ground.
The door opened and Flynn filled the entry. “Your S.O.S. interrupted something. Just sayin’.”
Judging by his bedhead and rumpled pajamas, Drake could guess. “Sorry.”
“Thank you, thank you!” Zoe hugged Flynn hard enough to have his brother stumble back a step.
He smiled once she pulled away. “No worries.” He glanced at Drake, eyebrows raised.
Drake shook his head in a silent I-don’t-want-to-talk-about-it and followed them out of the closet. He told Flynn to take off and waited in the hallway for Zoe to grab her purse from the grooming room. A few minutes later, she brushed right past him and kept going toward reception at a clipped pace.
She was freaking out, which made him freak out harder.
Trying to think fast, he activated and unlocked his cell. In the spirit of moving on, do you want to come over and help me paint tomorrow night? He held his breath.
She froze, her stiff spine to him and her facing the door to freedom. Slowly, she unpocketed her cell and stared at the screen, unmoving. Seconds passed.
He thumbed another text. I can make meatloaf for dinner. Perhaps it’ll give you better memories if someone else cooks.
Her phone chimed and, as she read what he’d sent, her hands shook. Rubbing her forehead, she made a sound of duress and pushed through the door, disappearing into the night.
Two hours later, as he was still wound tighter than a German clock and settling into bed, her response came. Yes.
Chapter 11
Zoe was going to lose it. Completely, utterly, in grand fashion, lose it.
She paced the living room in Mama’s house, biting her thumbnail and trying to decide if she should back out of tonight’s painting party with Drake or show. She’d finished work early and had headed home with the notion she’d visit Mama in rehab, shower, and go to Drake’s. She was closing in on two hours until she was supposed to be there and she had done little more than wear the rug down to threads.